


Dirty Sneakers

by stupidityisdangerous (orphan_account)



Category: IT (1990), IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, M/M, Partial Nudity, Softball, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 21:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stupidityisdangerous
Summary: You've been crushing on Stanley Uris for months, and when he shows up at your softball game for the third time in a row, you can't help but wonder why. Then, in the locker room, your teammate Beverly Marsh invites you to a trip to the quarry after the game with the rest of the Losers. And you could never say no, especially when she admits Stan has a crush on you...





	Dirty Sneakers

**Author's Note:**

> For [Lex](http://properparker.tumblr.com/).

The field is dirty, and the sun beats down on your back, making your softball jersey stick to you with sweat and the bat feels slippery in your tight grip. Beverly Marsh is pitching, and she squints her eyes against the sun, throwing the ball at lightning speed.

You hit it within seconds, running as fast as possible and sliding into home plate.

_ “A HOME RUN! THAT’S RIGHT YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!”  _ Someone screams from the stands, and you immediately recognize the obnoxious voice of Richie Tozier. He’s jumping up and down in the bleachers, his thick glasses bouncing on his pasty, freckled face as he screams. You see a hand tug at his Hawaiian shirt and smile to yourself.

Stan Uris is in attendance for the third game in a row.

You know it’s not really that big a deal, that Stan is only attending because Bill Denbrough is dating Beverly, but every time you see him in the stands, looking down at you in your dirty, tight white pants and mud-covered sneakers, you feel your heart skip a beat and a blush come to your tanned cheeks.

You’ve had a crush on Stan since the beginning of the school year, and now that summer has come and you’re not seeing him as often, every time you lay eyes on his beautiful face, you wish you had the guts to ask him out.

* * *

After the game, you’re changing out of your uniform and into your street clothes when Beverly approaches you in the locker room. She’s wearing a periwinkle sundress and a bronze chain holds a key to her chest. Her hair, short since the beginning of the summer, is perfectly styled and not frizzy like yours.

Not for the first time, you find yourself wishing you looked more like Beverly. 

You pull your shirt over your head quickly, not wanting her to see that, at thirteen, you still wear training bras.

“Hey,” she says, leaning against the small square blue lockers.

“Hey,” you echo nervously.

“My friends came to watch the game and”—she rolls her eyes—”I know it’s stupid, but one of them totally has a crush on you, and since we’re going to out after this, they wanted you to come.”

You feel your face flush with red, and your jaw drops open. 

“W-which friend?” You inquire, and her baby blue eyes flash with amusement as you freeze in your place, completely forgetting the worn, dirt-caked white sneakers you’ve been wearing since the beginning of the season, and clutching them absentmindedly in your nervous, shaky hands.

“Stan,” she whispers quietly, her hot breath tickling your neck as she leans in closer. “Why?” She asks, curious and teasing. “Do you like him too?”

_ “What?!” _ You raise your eyebrows, trying and failing miserably to portray genuine shock on your flushing, sunburnt face, and she grins knowingly. “No way! Stan, ew!”

“What?” She asks, suddenly defensive, standing up straighter and crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s wrong with Stan?”

_ Shit.  _ “Nothing!” You put your hands up defensively, and your sneakers fall to the ground, splattering mud on your bare ankles.

Beverly laughs, shoving your shoulder playfully as you bend down to pick up your sneakers. “I’m just playing,” she confesses. “Now hurry up, we’re going down to the Quarry in a few minutes.”

As you try to wipe the mud from your ankles and pull your sneakers once again onto your feet, you can’t help but smile to yourself.

Stan Uris likes you too.

* * *

 

The ride to the Barrens is short but exhilarating. You only live a few blocks away from the softball field, but all the other Losers rode their bikes, and Beverly gives you a suggestive wink when she suggests you hop on the back of Stan’s.

You’ve never ridden like this on a bike before. The straight-laced, suburban friends of your childhood preferred air-conditioned, parent-driven car rides to their destinations, and as embarrassing as it is for you to admit, you’ve never learned to ride a bike of your own.

You’re happy to find that your body seems to fit perfectly behind Stan’s and when you wrap your arms around his slim waist, you hold back a sigh when you breathe in the sweet shampoo smell of his carefully styled chestnut curls.

“Wow, Stan! First time you’ve had a girl on you, huh?” The trashmouth of Richie Tozier ruins the moment, and you laugh gratefully when Stan slaps the other boy’s scrawny, pale arm.

“Sorry about him,” Stan apologizes quietly as he leans his bike against a tree by the water, and you look at your shoes self-consciously.

“It’s alright.”

“COME ON LOVE BIRDS!” Beverly yells, and you follow the rest of the crowd as they run to the edge of the pointed, sharp rocks of the Quarry cliff.

“Wait, when she said we were going to the Quarry, I didn’t think she meant we were going to—” You express your worries to Stan, but you quickly lose your train of thought as the group begins to strip down their clothes, and Stan follows suit.

“Don’t worry,” he says, quiet and reassuring, and for a second you feel the anxiety melt away from within you. “It’s not as terrible as it looks. We’ve been doing it all summer.”

He folds his salmon button-up, setting it gently aside in the basket of his bicycle, and you look away as he begins to unbutton his pants. At this point, all the others are undressed, and the boys clear a path as Beverly, bare except for a simple cotton bra and bright blue underpants, runs in between them and jumps, emitting a high, girlish scream as she splashes into the water below.

You gawk, open-mouthed and horrified, and Richie approaches you, shoving his large, Coke bottle glasses into your hands. His eyes look oddly small without them, and he smiles dorkily. “Hold my glasses, hot stuff.”

Then he runs down the line, and cannonballs after Beverly. From the water below, you hear a scream and a splash, followed by “COME OF YOU PUSSIES!”

Bill, Mike, Ben, and Eddie jump next, and soon enough you and Stan are left alone at the top of the cliff. “I’m gonna jump next,” he says, “you coming?”

You walk closer to the edge, and your heart races as you peer down at the deep waters below. The others are splashing around, chicken-fighting with Beverly on Bill’s shoulders and Eddie on Richie’s while screams and cheers from Mike and Ben fill the air.

You’ve always been terrified of heights, but you didn’t come all this way for nothing, and so, you pull your baggy t-shirt over your head, casting it aside and unbuttoning your jean shorts. “Fuck it.”

Stan grins and holds out his hand.

“Together?”

“Together.”

* * *

 

The cool water hits you like a wood floor and you belly flop awkwardly before bobbing towards the others and easily maintaining a float. Finally, all those swimming lessons at the Derry town pool pay off. Stan is right there beside you, his curls slicked back and dripping on his head, and even though it was only for a minute, your palm still feels empty without his hand in yours.

You feel exposed, your body shivering as it adjusts to the cold after being conditioned to the burning Maine summer, and goosebumps prickling on your exposed skin. You’ve never really been a fan of your body, childhood teasing on the playground and general self-consciousness around your peers make you a little uncomfortable even in a modest one piece, and now here you are in nothing but a training bra and lime green panties, dripping wet and freezing in the unfamiliar waters of the quarry, your longtime crush right there beside you.

You pray the fabric of your bra is thick enough that it doesn’t become see-through in the waters, and are so stuck in your own head that you don’t notice the others screaming your name until Stan taps you on the shoulder.

“They want us to chicken fight,” he says bluntly, and you wonder how someone so sweet can sometimes be so impossibly difficult to read.

You look over at the others, and Beverly is nodding you forward from where she stands with Bill resting his head on her freckled shoulders.  _ “Yes,”  _ she mouths, and your eyes widen in questioning.

“Fine, I guess,” you say, and the others cheer.

“IT’S YOU AGAINST ME, URIS!” Richie yells, and Eddie clamors back onto his bony shoulders. The trashmouth is squinting like crazy, and you wonder how he can even see without his gigantic glasses.

“Come on,” Stan crouches in the now shallow water and you climb onto his shoulders, glad his head covers the slight softness of your stomach.

“On my count,” Mike says, apparently the referee of this ridiculousness. “Ready...set... _ GO! _ ”

Stan runs forward and you reach your arms out awkwardly in self-defense as Eddie pushes at you aimlessly, screaming as Richie moves beneath him.  _ “STOP FUCKING SHAKING, RICHIE!” _

Richie snaps back from between the other boy’s short legs. “I CAN’T HELP IT THAT YOU’RE SO HEAVY, EDS! WHO KNEW YOU WERE SO CURVACEOUS?!”

“I don’t think that word means what you think it means,” Stan says sarcastically as his grip on your thighs tightens and you almost fall backward. You regain your balance and push ruthlessly, Eddie’s tiny body flailing as both him and Richie scream and he too almost hits the water.

Eddie climbs back up awkwardly, using Richie’s overgrown curls to support his grip, and lunges at you with a look of rage so terrifying for a second you forget that you have at least five inches in height to your advantage, and you let out a bloodcurdling scream as both you and Stan fall back and dirty quarry water fills your mouth and nostrils.

Beneath the water, your eyes burn as they search for a way to stand, and through the quickly moving current, Stan’s hands find your own and he pulls you upwards, bringing you face to face.

Gasping, you put your arms around him and cough as he pats your back soothingly. He pulls away to look at your face. “You okay?” He asks concern and a hint of annoyance—no doubt aimed at the cheering couple behind him—showing in his stunning hazel eyes. “Let’s go find somewhere to sit.”

He takes your hand and leads you to the shore, calling quick reassurances behind at the others and silencing the whoops and “oohs” of Richie and Eddie with a casual but effective middle finger.

You find a comfortable spot on the rocks around the curve of the cliff and away from the Losers, and you sit with your feet in the water and your arms around your waist, covering your stomach and breasts.

“You’re still wearing your shoes,” he observes, and you notice for the first time that when you hastily abandoned your clothes at the top of the cliff, you pulled your shorts right over your sneakers, not even bothering to untie their fraying laces.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Looks like I forgot.”

There’s no one around, but somehow you feel like the whole world is watching you, and you stare at the toes of your sneakers in awkward silence. 

“At least they’re cleaner now,” he says, and you laugh, thankful for his wit bringing you out of the unsureness of your own thoughts.

“Yeah,” you say, this time airier than before, and you finally turn to look at him, taking in the delicateness of his features, for once uninterrupted. There’s something about him, that despite his bluntness and sometimes overwhelming attractiveness, makes him  _ so easy _ to talk to. “My mom was supposed to buy me new ones for this season,” you admit, “but...we couldn’t...so I just had to wear my school shoes.”

“That sucks,” he says, and there’s a definite sincerity in his words.

“How do you do that?” You ask, suddenly and unintentionally, lost again in the smoothness of his voice.

“Do what?” He asks, confused.

“Always say what you mean? You’re always so confident, and sure in your words. It’s so…”

“So what?”

“So...so…”

That’s when he kisses you. You’ve never been kissed before, but it feels natural and easy when his lips press against yours, and your body relaxes as he places a hand gently on the smooth shaven skin of your thigh.

He tastes like potato chips, chapstick, and mint toothpaste, and when he pulls away the taste lingers in your mouth, making you crave more.

You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do  _ after  _ you kiss, and you don’t know if he does either, but you know that whatever it is, it’s going to be wonderful. For the first time in a long time, you feel like whatever’s coming next is going to be fine, and the worry and anxiety you’ve carried on your shoulders for so long seems to have washed off when you fell into his arms, and getting up seems pointless.

Because if you’re going to fall anywhere, you can’t think of anywhere better than the arms of Stanley Uris.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to send me prompts or request fics of your own on [Tumblr](http://leahs-anxiety.tumblr.com/) or read other fics like this on [FanFiction.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/6326521/) if that is your preferred site. My inbox is always open.


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